


Three Drabbles From Arklay

by BeastOfTheSea



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastOfTheSea/pseuds/BeastOfTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arklay, 1981.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Drabbles From Arklay

He remembered, in absent moments, blurry images of needles and muffled sounds of click-clacking shoes against bare white floors and the dull all-consuming burns of a hundred fevers. Mere false memories produced by his work at Umbrella, of course. He had never been able to recall his childhood.

Still, he adopted Will’s insane work schedule for reasons of his own. One never had nightmares if one never slept, after all.

And if one worked too hard to have any free thoughts, one couldn’t wonder if he was nothing more than another experiment on the slab of an unseen greater scientist…

* * *

St- _stupid_ brat. Stupid. _Stupid._

Her initial performance – nothing but a fluke. He’d prove it. He’d show them all. He’d remind all of them that _he_ was the wunderkind of Umbrella, the one to whom all showed deference. Her and her stupid _ants_ – just gibberish. _His_ experiments were so much better–

Ah, damnit! Who’d put that desk there?

I-it didn’t matter. He hadn’t _actually_ tripped. He was getting enough sleep. He wasn’t – he wasn’t losing his mind. They weren’t looking at him funny in the halls. Al wasn’t watching him like an experiment on the verge of breakdown.

It wasn’t so…

* * *

 Spencer was out to get him. Ashford would be, too – except that Ashford was dead, a casualty of that idiot boy of his. Or had he been? Had Spencer gotten him, too?

Damn Spencer! That traitorous lout!

He reached for the tank of leeches, his hands shaking uncontrollably. Bony, spotted with age – but oh, they’d been lovely once! Everything had been lovely once. Those snots, Birkin and Wesker… they should have seen him when he was young… They wouldn’t laugh then…

But they didn’t matter. Nobody mattered. Only his children.

“Do you love me?” he cooed. “Of course you do.”


End file.
